


Mistletoe

by imitateslife



Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Background Chapyard, Christmas Fluff, F/M, I meant to write this sooner but it's now staunchly the new year, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:49:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: Antigone Funn hates Christmas - or maybe she just hates being alone. When she is forced to attend the annual Piffling Vale Carol Service for yet another year, she can't imagine things will get better. A chance encounter under the mistletoe could change everything.
Relationships: Antigone Funn & Rudyard Funn, Dr. Henry Edgware/Antigone Funn, Eric Chapman & Antigone Funn, Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn, Georgie Crusoe & Antigone Funn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Mistletoe

The Piffling Vale Carol Service was yet another one of those traditions Rudyard Funn held fast to. Rudyard believed, even after last year’s cock up of a Christmas, that the best and perhaps only way to truly enjoy Christmas was to adhere as rigidly as possible to time-honored activities and a tight schedule with very little room for distraction. On Christmas Eve, he gathered his sister, his assistant, and his favorite mouse and hauled them all to Chapman Community Hospital where the carolers were giving their annual free concert. 

But this story isn’t about Rudyard. 

Antigone Funn hated Christmas. It was such a cheery, joyful time and the poor dear had never quite understood about it. Other families made a fuss with presents and twinkly lights and flash and smiles and it sickened her. Even the snow, which soaked through her socks and left her bone-chilled, gave her cause to scowl. If Antigone had it her way, she would not be celebrating Christmas with her brother and his demented joy and his festive schedule. She’d be alone in her mortuary, away from all the nonsense or else she and Georgie would acknowledge the holiday by getting thoroughly soused at the vicarage with the rest of the village’s lonely hearts. She’d gorge herself on Miss Scruple’s Christmas pudding and not even care that she envied everyone on the bloody planet who went around with a “Merry Christmas” on their lips because for a moment, she, too, would feel almost merry. 

She almost looked forward to her brother and Chapman cocking the holiday up, just so that bit - the bit without Rudyard and tradition and feelings of emptiness - would hurry up and get here. She eyed the crowd, wondering who would be at the vicarage tomorrow night. Agatha Doyle would be avoiding her nephews as usual. Miss Scruple, too, would be there. The reverend, the mayor… Antigone looked at them all in turn. Her eyes settled on Doctor Henry Edgeware, seated uncomfortably near the stage. Throat clenching, Antigone realized she hadn’t seen him at the vicarage last year. He’d missed out on spectacular food and drink and she suspected he’d spent the holiday here, hard at work. When they were children, people often predicted that Henry Edgeware would go far in life. Instead he was back in Piffling Vale- a shining star dimmed by the trials of life. Antigone still thought he was exceptionally handsome and that if he got a good night’s rest now and again, he’d give the likes of Eric Chapman a run for his money as Piffling Vale’s most eligible bachelor. Everyone said that he had a wife stowed away in his mother’s old house, but anyone who had seen the good doctor in public on his rare day off, they would have seen that “Esther” was a parrot. He’d gotten strange in adulthood, reclusive and somehow tragic; always overworked and tense. Sometimes - like now - Antigone would see Doctor Edgeware in public and notice the stiff way he carried his shoulders. Surely, she would think, if anyone could ease that tension, it would be a woman who eased rigor mortis for a living. There were parts of Doctor Henry Edgeware Antigone would have liked to see stiff, but there were still others she wanted to relax. She imagined straddling him as she gripped his shoulders and pushed on pressure points just to make him moan. He had such a pleasing voice and she wondered what it might sound like if he was actually pleased. She loved talking to him when she went to pick up bodies from the morgue. Little, idle chats about literature and current events and death and Antigone kept hoping he would call her to the hospital without having to have her sign a death certificate. 

Antigone popped out of her reverie when she noticed Rudyard waving a hymnal in her face. 

“What the bloody hell is that?” she asked.

“It’s a book of carols,” said Rudyard. “So you can sing along.”

“I don’t _want_ to sing along,” Antigone hissed. “I want to be left alone.”

“You can be alone and continue to sing Christmas carols with the rest of us.”

“No.”

“I don’t ask for much from you,” Rudyard said. “But once a year can you just _pretend_ to be normal?”

Antigone’s scowl deepened and she snatched the book from Rudyard’s hand.

“I hope Chapman fills your stocking with coal when he does his Father Christmas bit.”

“That’s the spirit!”

The carolers launched into an off-key, off-tempo rendition of “Carol of the Bells”, which, to its credit, was the most haunted of all Christmas carols. Antigone usually loved it for its sweeping majesty and eerie musical choices. Today, she muttered along with the carol, wishing it would end. The thing was, she wasn’t totally against Christmas. Things had changed since last Christmas and she hadn’t quite acclimated to the change. The rivalry between Funn Funerals and Chapman’s was almost civil these days. And though Antigone’s work was still her foremost passion, she discovered a talent for the arts, which had long ago been squashed and sequestered because of a singular performance of “Wind in the Willows”, which she’d rather not think about. She’d directed plays and made chocolates and written smutty literature. For the first time in a long time - possibly for the first time in her life - Antigone Funn was living. 

And it would have been bloody wonderful if someone noticed.

As the year drew to a close and Antigone wanted to reflect on and celebrate her accomplishments, she found that she was doing so alone. She’d done so much of her life alone. Despite being a twin, Antigone had a solitary nature and even more than Christmas, she loathed it. She loathed her gangly limbs and raspy voice and utter inability to charm or entice. She’d done so much with her life and who would appreciate it with her? Not Rudyard. Perhaps Georgie, in a quiet, friendly way, and certainly not-

“Merry Christmas, everybody!”

As the carol ended, a too-skinny and too-blond Santa popped into the room, carrying a great big sack of toys for the kiddies. Eric Chapman mounted the little stage beside Mayor Desmond Desmond and Antigone frowned. Eric Chapman had been the object of her affection for the first year he’d been on Piffling, but of all the things that changed- Her eyes scanned through the crowd to spot Rudyard watching Chapman do his schtick. Last year, he’d groused all through it. This year, his eyes shone and a smile that wouldn’t scare small children curled his lips. Antigone knew when not to compete with her brother. That, perhaps, had been the biggest accomplishment of her year. She had relinquished her crush on Eric Chapman as she realized he didn’t care. He didn’t care that she fancied him, that she was brilliant and clever, that she projected every last romantic fantasy she had onto him. He didn’t notice her if she stood too far into the shadows and Antigone wanted, Antigone _deserved_ to be appreciated. So did Rudyard, for that matter. And there was no question that Chapman noticed him. And Chapman would be coming for Christmas dinner and that was fine. Or, rather, it was fine until it wouldn’t be. At some point in the evening, watching her brother and Chapman argue around their feelings would drive her mad and she’d storm out of Funn Funerals and get hammered at the vicarage and wonder how long she would have to stand under the mistletoe before someone came by to clean it up. 

Of course, just because Antigone didn’t think anyone had noticed her in the last year didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed anyone herself. Lately, her eyes searched crowds not for blond hair and blue eyes, but brown hair and hazel eyes. She could pick out an exhausted, stern male voice even as they sang carols. He was a little flat as he sang, and now as the hospital lobby echoed with silence, Antigone wondered what Doctor Henry Edgeware might be doing tomorrow, what he might be doing New Year’s Eve. What would he do if she asked? Maybe she would try the next time someone dropped dead and needed to be carried off to Funn Funerals. Maybe, standing in the morgue, beside all those gleaming refrigerators, under the bright, white lights, she’d ask Doctor Edgeware to ring in the new year at her side. She wondered what it would take to be that brave. 

“- And this time of year, we want to give an extra special thanks to our healthcare workers!” Chapman said. “Doctor Edgeware has been an exceptionally good boy this year… Doctor Edgeware, are you in the house?”

Antigone looked away from her brother in time to see Doctor Edgeware stiffly push over to the stage. Pity twisted her heart and for a moment, she remembered that she was not the only one having a miserable Christmas. Like her, Doctor Edgeware was being forced to endure this Christmas caroling. Unlike her, Doctor Edgeware had two hospitals to run. Antigone admired his tirelessness, his avid pursuit of patient care, and his handsome figure as he loped up the steps to accept Chapman’s gift. He was graceful, even in his exhaustion. Antigone wondered if he could dance and she imagined, for just a moment, being brave enough to ask him to dance at the Christmas celebration at the vicarage.

“It’s not a second doctor, is it?” Doctor Edgeware asked Chapman, looking dubiously at the package being offered to him. 

“Even better,” said Chapman. “A year’s supply of hand sanitizer. This is just the first installment!”

“How many of these would I have to drink to die of liver failure?” 

“You’re the doctor, you ought to know!” said the mayor.

“Not in front of the children,” said Chapman quickly with a forced smile. “Let’s give a warm hand to Doctor Edgeware, ladies and gentlemen!”

There was some scattered applause amongst the patients and visitors as Doctor Edgeware stumbled down the steps. The carolers began another round of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”. Antigone watched Doctor Edgeware push through the crowd and it only took her a second to realize that he was headed her way. Panic rose in her. Was she near an exit? Would he just shove past her like everyone else? What if he stopped to talk to her? What would she say? What would she do? What would he-

“Oh, Merry Christmas, Antigone,” Doctor Edgeware said as he joined her in her corner. “May I stand with you?”

“Merry Christmas, doctor,” she said, voice breathy. “Yes, of course.”

He looked over at her - eyes starting somewhere above her head and trailing downwards. A smile tilted his lips and Antigone thought he looked rather handsome like that, if a bit tired. Her body ran hot as he looked her over and she was sure her cheeks were holly red. Something in the way he looked at her was unexpected and different. She swallowed. 

“That was a thoughtful gift,” she said, “from Father Christmas. You’ve been out of hand sanitizer for a long time.”

“Yes, very thoughtful,” Doctor Edgeware said tightly. “We need more doctors, but I suppose hand sanitizer will have to do.” 

“How are you getting by with two hospitals?”

Doctor Edgeware sighed. 

“Honestly, it’s a nightmare,” he said. “I spend what little free time I have praying for death these days.”

“I know the feeling.”

Doctor Edgeware looked at her and the hot, dizzy feeling came over Antigone again. She wasn’t used to being seen when she lurked in dark corners away from the others, but this man sought her out - sought her out and understood her. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve led a particularly full life this year.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t negate a medical condition. You should know.”

“I do,” he said. “I do know, but all the same, if you could see yourself through another person’s eyes…”

“What, like Rudyard’s?”

“No.” Doctor Edgeware met her gaze. “Someone else. Anyone else.”

“What do _you_ see when you look at me, doctor?”

There was a pause. Antigone’s heart pounded. Had she ever thought about Doctor Edgeware looking at her? She hadn’t thought about anyone looking at her. Surely when he did, Doctor Edgeware only saw the lanky, depressed disaster who had once made a mad escape from his hospital. Surely he didn’t know she had been Octavia Blimp or about all of her artistic endeavors. He had two hospitals to run. When would he possibly have had time? It wasn’t fair, of course, that a man - any man - ought to notice her this late in the game, but it was exceptionally unfair that _this man_ had noticed her. When they had been children, Henry Edgeware had been a little older than her in school. She’d doodled anatomically correct hearts around his name for months and then he’d simply disappeared at eighteen, off to the mainland. Antigone had never expected to see him again and when she did, she didn’t expect to see him come back well educated and handsome and so full of stamina… She bit her lip. She’d spent years trying to actively avoid seeing Henry Edgeware, even if that meant forgoing her healthcare. She’d pushed her crush on him aside and dared not fantasize about someone so close to home. By the time she _had_ seen him again, he was exhausted and irascible and she was worse. 

Funny, how everything seemed softer at Christmas. 

His eyes were kinder and they burned with unexpected fire. His lips contorted to a smile instead of a scowl and Antigone would have sworn she heard his breath hitch. He was carrying an armful of hand sanitizer, not a bouquet of roses, but it was enough to make Antigone’s heart patter faster than it had any right to. 

“You’re resilient,” he said. “I have never seen someone so determined to live a purposeful, passionate life. And you’re _brilliant_ … From a medical and artistic perspective, we all know who the best mortician on this island is. You’re a brilliant conversationalist. I look forward to seeing you every time a patient books with Funn Funerals and- And you’ve been standing under mistletoe since you arrived.”

“I…” Antigone looked up. “Oh…”

“It’d be a terrible waste if someone didn’t kiss you,” Doctor Edgeware said. “Unless you’re waiting for someone…?”

“No, I’m not.” 

He touched his chilly hand to her cheekbone. Antigone gasped.

“Sorry,” he said.

“I’m not.” She leaned against his fingers. “I didn’t expect your hands to be so cold…”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Right, yes, of course, shut up…”

Doctor Edgeware tilted her chin ever so slightly and Antigone whimpered. She could feel his warmth hovering close to her lips. Her eyes flashed open as she realized that this would be her first kiss and it might be her only one and she didn’t know what to make of it or how to make it count.

“Henry?”

“Antigone?”

“I don’t- I never-”

“Do you not want me to kiss you?”

“What if I’m _bad_ at it?” Her voice was small and fragile. The simplest word could break her. She looked at Doctor Edgeware with wary eyes. “I… I want my first kiss to be… magical.”

“I’m afraid I’m a man of science, not magic.”

“I mean, I want it to _mean_ something,” Antigone said. “... Does it mean something?”

“More than you could possibly know.”

When he kissed her, Antigone gripped his shoulders tight. He didn’t moan quite the way she imagined, but the muffled growl in his voice thrilled her. His lips were surprisingly soft and his breath, very lightly boozy, was hot. Antigone wriggled helplessly in his arms, mewling in ways that would surely get them kicked out of the hospital if anyone noticed, The warms in her core melted and left her hot and shaky as the kiss broke. Touching his cheek with a trembling hand, Antigone looked at Henry in utter bewilderment. 

“That was…”

“I know.”

“How long have you… How long have you wanted to-?”

“Since you started coming in to pick up bodies instead of your brother,” Henry confessed. “I kept hoping an opportunity would come up there…”

“We can’t kiss in a morgue! That’s desecration!”

“Which is why we’re kissing here,” Henry said. “Antigone… What are you doing tomorrow?”

“My brother and Chapman are organizing a family get-together,” she said a little sourly. “I’d give anything to have other plans.”

“I’ll be here all night,” he said. “And I’m the only doctor and there are dozens of mistletoe sprigs around this hospital. Maybe you can help me find them all…”

“I- Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Later that evening, when she told Rudyard that she would be volunteering at the hospital on Christmas Day, he tried to pry the truth out of her and negotiate with her to have her stay at Funn Funerals for dinner at least. Reluctantly, Antigone agreed.

“But after dinner, I really am volunteering at the hospital,” she said. “I promised Doctor Edgeware…”

“Yes, all right,” said Rudyard. “Tell your new boyfriend that if he has a spare moment and finds himself at a loose end, that he can join us for dinner.”

Antigone gaped.

“How dare you-!”

“Did you actually expect me to believe you’d volunteered to spread Christmas cheer?” Rudyard asked. 

“We saw you and Doctor Edgeware snoggin’ under the mistletoe,” said Georgie. 

“The whole village likely saw that unseemly display,” said Rudyard. “So there’s no point in hiding it.” 

Antigone looked over to where Henry stood in deep conversation with Eric Chapman. Henry caught her eye and he smiled. 

“Fine,” Antigone said. “I’ll ask him. But only if _you_ admit that you fancy Chapman.”

Rudyard scowled.

“Now, look here-!”

Antigone walked away and Georgie followed.

“You know he’s never gonna do that,” she said. 

“I know,” said Antigone. “And I’m never going to subject Henry to Rudyard and Chapman’s idea of a Christmas celebration.”

“But you’re going to go see him, right?”

They stepped outside into the first flurries of snow falling over the island. Antigone breathed in the crisp, night air and thought that maybe she didn’t hate the snow or the lights or everything about Christmas so much. Maybe she just hated being alone. But she wasn’t and she wouldn’t be. She clasped her gloved hands together behind her back and smiled softly at Georgie. 

“Of course I’m going to go see him,” she said. “I promised to help him take down the rest of the mistletoe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) holidays, everyone!


End file.
